We're Not in Kansas, Anymore... Part 2
by Agents Panda Dix
Summary: Lee and Amanda are called to California for a VERY special assignment! NOTE: This is a spoof on the Fansource event taking place Oct 12-14 in Pasadena. It is very AU, although we tried to keep the characterizations accurate.


AUTHORS: PANDA - panda@hksys.com, DIX - sdixon1@kscable.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: Being the God-fearing, mostly law-abiding citizens that we are (don't even talk to   
me about those speeding tickets--I was framed, I tell ya!), we are honor bound to point out that   
the following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual or imagined persons, living or dead,   
are wholly intentional on the part of the authors. Rights to the aforementioned imagined persons   
remain the property of Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions.   
  
Rights to actual persons remain the property of said actual persons. Since permission has been   
only implicitly granted for such usage, the authors freely grant such actual persons the right to   
confiscate the authors' keyboards, in the interest of deterring further infringement (I have a spare   
anyway :P). Rights to the story remain the property of the authors and this story may not be   
reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the authors.  
  
A few lines of this story, much distorted, were borrowed from the episodes "There Goes the   
Neighborhood" written by Rod Holcomb, and "If Thoughts Could Kill" written by James Frawley.   
Any similarity to any other work of fiction except those previously referred to is wholly   
unintentional.  
  
  
WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS, ANYMORE. . .  
  
PART 2/2  
  
"Lee? Did you hear that?" Amanda asked sleepily. Looking at the digital clock by the bed, she   
saw it's readout registered 3:26 am.  
  
"Mm, hmm," he murmured. How could I not hear it?" Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes as he   
looked at the clock, not wanting to believe what he saw.  
  
"It sounds like someone's playing jump rope up there. And what is that annoying music? It   
sounds vaguely familiar," she remarked as the strains of some early 80's TV theme music   
filtered down from above.  
  
"I'm gonna go up there and see what's going on," Lee stated as he threw on his sweat pants and   
t-shirt.  
  
"Lee, are you sure that's wise? It's probably some of those wild women, and who knows what   
kind of party they're having. You could get hurt."  
  
"Amanda, I've spent the better part of my adult life as a spy. I think I can handle a bunch of   
goofy women in plaid." Walking to the door, he opened it and turned back to blow a kiss to   
Amanda. "Be back in a few," he said, closing the door behind him.  
  
Snuggling back into the sheets, she couldn't help thinking that this time, her erstwhile spy had   
met his match.  
  
Walking up the stairs to the 9th floor, Lee followed the blaring music to its source. It appeared   
that every room on this floor was a part of this crazy gathering. Women of all ages and states of   
consciousness flitted from room to room. Most of them had some kind of milky-looking drink in   
one hand, and what looked like poppy-seed cake in the other. Every one of them had on some   
shade of plaid, and a few still wore their proverbial red hats.   
  
Passing by several of these women, none of whom were paying him any attention, so engrossed   
were they in their other activities, he found himself fascinated by their name tags. "Arielcat",   
"BS", "Chipmunk", "Emily1672", "Gogogjo", "JamieBuchman", "Moodyweasel" and "Loriscorpio"   
were just a few of them. What was with these names? Some of them made sense as   
nicknames, but some of them were just out-and-out strange.  
  
Approaching room 921, the apparent origination of the disturbance, he noticed a large sign stuck   
to the wall just outside the door. It read, "Emma's Chat Room". 'I wonder what that means,' Lee   
thought to himself. Carefully edging closer, still unacknowledged, he noticed a group of them,   
blindfolded, playing some kind of pin-the-tail game. The picture on the wall that appeared to be   
the target of their game was that of a scarecrow. 'Must be a Halloween variation,' he thought.   
Peering closer, he decided the objects they were trying to pin on the scarecrow looked   
remarkably like socks! 'Why would they be playing pin the sock on the scarecrow?' he   
wondered.  
  
Another group of them were watching something on the big screen TV in the corner of the room.   
From his angle, he couldn't make out what they were watching, but it was definitely the source of   
the loud music. Piled around the TV were stacks and stacks of videotapes. 'What on Earth   
could they be watching?'   
  
Stubbing his toe, he looked down to see a large box with several tall-neck bottles sticking out of   
it. Bending down to read the labels, he realized they were bottles of Galliano liqueur. And   
packed around the bottles were what he had first presumed to be Styrofoam pellets, but upon   
closer inspection were revealed to be miniature marshmallows. A tag hanging off of the side of   
the box caught his eye. It read, "Sorry I couldn't make it. The Galliano's on me. A_bit_dotty."  
  
Peeking back into the room, fascinated, he observed several gallons of milk, two large poppy-  
seed cakes, bowls of guacamole and bean dip, and several jars of peanut butter all adorning the   
desk along the far wall. Shaking his head in amazement, he decided that in all of his years of   
being a party boy, he'd never been to one this wild.  
  
Realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to put a stop to this party, he decided to   
retreat while he was still being ignored. Slinking back down the hall, he heaved a sigh of relief   
as the stairwell door closed behind him. The report he and Amanda would have to file upon their   
return to the Agency would be one for the books.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
(Saturday, October 14th)  
  
"Nephew, she's still alive. Some idiot maid ate the cookies," the elderly voice said into the   
headphones.  
  
"Shit! Now, what?" the younger male voice asked.  
  
"Well, nephew, I think we'd better infiltrate the convention she's attending. There are so many   
attendees no one will notice us. I found one of their nametags so we can duplicate it. We will   
need code names, though, in order to fit in," the older voice stated.  
  
The voices continued in this manner while the two agents ate their breakfast, courtesy of room   
service. Amanda savored her Eggs Benedict, resplendent with hollandaise sauce, while Lee   
sipped his coffee, cream, no sugar.  
  
"Are you sure you won't at least have a piece of toast?" she asked around a mouthful of crisp,   
perfectly cooked bacon.  
  
"Amanda, after nearly 14 years of marriage, you should know the answer to that by now." Lee   
shook his head at his wife's stubbornness over his breakfast habits.  
  
"I know, but I keep hoping," she said, a wry grin on her face.  
  
"I guess we'll have to follow the Metzgers. That means we probably need to crash the   
convention, too," he said, holding up the pamphlets detailing the convention activities.  
  
"But, Lee," she asked around a mouthful of English Muffin, "how will we manage that when every   
time one of those women sees us, they go crazy?"  
  
"Well, they might not notice us if we blended in. . ." he said.  
  
"True, there are some items for sale down in the convention hall. I wonder if they sell those   
crazy plaid shirts and red hats? Let's finish up here and go shopping," she suggested, her eyes   
lighting up.  
  
Shaking his head, he said, "Any excuse to go shopping. . ."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The elderly gentleman, a newly purchased red fedora atop his head, wore a nametag that read,   
"FrnkFrtr". His nephew, resplendent in burgundy plaid, sported a nametag reading, "Rolf."  
  
"I don't know why you wouldn't pick a codename, nephew, it's all part of the game," the old man   
stated.  
  
"Colonel, it's not as if anyone here knows my name, anyway," Rolf said, shaking his head at his   
uncle's concern. The old man was such a perfectionist.  
  
"Let's get going. Maybe we can catch up to our quarry at this celebrity luncheon down in the   
reception hall," Colonel Metzger said as he picked up his cane and headed out the door.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Amanda, look down there," Lee whispered. He indicated a gathering outside one of the hotel   
meeting rooms.  
  
"Lee, be careful! They'll see us!" Amanda pulled her husband back around the corner of the   
intersecting hallways.  
  
The intrepid duo poked their heads around the corner to observe the spectacle before them. A   
group of the oddly attired women were gathered outside a tightly closed door. They seemed   
extremely excited, a terrifying prospect to the spies.  
  
"Amanda, you know how they got last night at the film showing. Whatever's behind that door has   
gotten to them even more," Lee leaned back against the wall, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is   
the carpet still dry?"  
  
"I know," Amanda agreed. "And all that plaid. You know we can't ever take a vacation in   
Scotland now. It'd be too stressful.  
  
"I wonder what's going on, though. There wasn't anything listed for this room today on the   
schedule."  
  
"Whatever it is, it involves food," Lee said as he waved toward three wheeled service cabinets at   
the end of the hall. A hotel employee wheeled the carts into a back entrance to the room one at   
a time.  
  
"Wait here," Lee instructed. He quickly made his way to the last remaining cabinet and peeked   
inside. Finding it empty, he hunched inside and pulled the door in.  
  
Unbeknownst to all concerned, one of the group of beplaided people observed the young   
employee as intently as Amanda and her partner. From her vantage point, she had not seen Lee   
climb into the cabinet, but she knew better than he the destination of those wheeled contraptions.   
Unnoticed by her companions, she slipped away to inspect the service cabinet.  
  
Amanda watched the woman approach. She was wearing a pair of 'Lee' brand jeans, a cheery   
blue and yellow plaid blouse, and a headband of purple and green plaid. "These women have a   
strange sense of style," Amanda thought as the woman opened the door to the wheeled cabinet.  
  
Within seconds, the woman was inside. The cabinet began to shake and rattle. Seconds later, it   
nearly tipped over as it spat out one seriously affronted secret agent. His hair was mussed, there   
was a small rip in his pullover, and his pants were twisted slightly at the waist. Squinting for   
closer inspection, Amanda noticed lipstick across his jaw and collar. Amanda watched as her   
husband attempted to gather his dignity about him while sitting in the middle of the hallway. As   
Lee rose, Amanda giggled at the final indignity. When he reached her concealed location, she   
reached around to peel a stick-on nametag that read 'Hello! My name is Wiz' from low on her   
husband's backside.  
  
Lee glared at the offensive piece of sticky-backed paper. "Do you . . .do you know what that   
woman just did to me?"  
  
"Oh, it doesn't take much imagination to figure it out, Stetson," Amanda laughed again as she   
waved the red and white nametag in front of him. "You used to enjoy that kind of thing. What   
happened?"  
  
"You happened, Amanda," he said softly, gripping her shoulders. "That . . . that purple plaid   
people eater can keep her roving hands away from me."  
  
"We still need to know what's going on in that room, Lee. Look, there's Emily's niece and her   
rude bodyguards."  
  
"They weren't rude, Amanda," Lee protested. "They just didn't respond to your style, that's all."  
  
"They wouldn't answer a simple, polite question, but they looked at you like you were some sort   
of god or something."  
  
"I guess you'll just have to accept that I . . ." He straightened his collar and leaned toward her, ".   
. . have still got it."  
  
"Gray hair, love handles, and a bum knee? Oh, yeah, Stetson, you've got it all right. Look,"   
Amanda pointed as she continued. "The plaid people have all gone in. Let me see what I can   
find out."  
  
Amanda strode toward the door to the meeting room. Her entry was prevented by a woman   
holding a clipboard. The woman held up one hand as Amanda attempted to peek through the   
slightly open door.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is a private luncheon. I can't let you in if you're not on the list. What's   
your name?"  
  
"Amanda King," Amanda fell back into the old habit of using her former name in the field.   
  
"Yeah, right. But what's your real name?" the woman smiled kindly as she spoke.  
  
Amanda regarded the woman carefully. Deciding that the risk was minimal, she answered,   
"Amanda Stetson."  
  
"Ma'am, you seem like a nice person, but this is a very private luncheon with fan club members   
only. If your name is not on the list, you can't come in. If you insist on playing games with me,   
I'll have to call hotel security."  
  
"No, that won't be necessary," Amanda shrugged and shook her head. "I'll move along. By the   
way, whose fan club?"  
  
"Bruce Box . . ."  
  
"Oh, him," Amanda interrupted. "He's kinda cute."  
  
Amanda returned to find Lee examining the hole in his pullover. "Leave it alone, sweetheart,"   
she told him as she swatted his hand, "You'll only make it worse."  
  
Lee resignedly let go of the garment. "So what's going on in there?" he asked.  
  
"A special luncheon for the fan club of that Bruce Box-something-or-other. You can't get in   
unless your name's on the approved list. Auntie Em's niece is safe from the Metzgers in there."  
  
As the couple turned to leave, they heard shouts of dismay interspersed with loud cackles   
coming from the other side of the door. One clear voice could be heard above the shouts,   
cackles, and now crashing tableware.  
  
"Oh, Wiz! How could you switch all this stuff around?"  
  
The Stetsons shared a puzzled glance and made their way down the hallway.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Why do we need a rental car?" Amanda asked as they waited for the concierge to pull the car   
around.  
  
"Well, if we're going to keep an eye on Emily's niece, we need to follow them on this little   
excursion. Apparently, they have some sightseeing lined up," Lee replied.  
  
"Do you think we look the part?" she asked, indicating their newly purchased plaid shirts and red   
floppy hats pulled down low over their eyes. "I don't think even Mother would recognize us in   
these get-ups."  
  
"I think we'll fit right in," Lee replied as he adjusted his newly minted nametag. His codename,   
"Westwinner", was emblazoned on his tag, while Amanda's read, "Rookie."  
  
Getting into their rented Ford Taurus Wagon, the two agents watched in fascination as the   
women they were following loaded up into several vans, ready to begin their sightseeing   
excursion. Two women, their nametags reading "Aly" and "TVguru" were attempting to bring   
order to chaos as the large group of women loaded up. The van at the front of the caravan, a   
white Chevy Astro, had several large signs emblazoned on it. One of them read, "SMacKers do   
it better!", another one read, "Honk if you love SMK!" and another one, "SMK is here to stay!"  
  
"Lee, what do you suppose 'SMK' stands for? And what is a SMacKer?" Amanda asked as they   
watched to see how many of those wild women were going to fit inside those vans. Finally, they   
were all loaded and ready to pull out. Waiting until the last van left, Lee pulled their Taurus out   
to follow at the tail end. They had seen their suspects get into the next to last car, and wanted to   
keep an eye on them while avoiding being seen.  
  
Following the caravan through the streets of Pasadena, the two spies enjoyed their view of the   
city. This was their first excursion out of the hotel, and they were determined to take pleasure in   
it. As they entered Studio City, they marveled at the architecture and the palm trees. They were   
no palm trees in DC.  
  
Lee had to stop the car suddenly, as he realized, almost too late, that the caravan was halting.   
Being behind five different cars and vans, at first he couldn't see what the commotion was about.   
But, as three of the vehicles pulled around the corner to park, suddenly he was close enough to   
see.  
  
"Amanda? Do you see what I see?" Lee asked, incredulity evident in his voice. They were   
stopped in front of a white colonial style house with two dormer windows and a white picket   
fence. There were black shutters framing the front windows, and a detached two-car garage at   
the back.  
  
"Wow, Lee! This house looks just like the one we used to live in. I wonder why we stopped   
here?" Amanda craned her head out the car window, trying to see what the women were doing.   
It looked like they were taking pictures of the house. 'Does someone famous live here?' she   
wondered, 'In California it could be anyone.' "Lee, shall we get out and have a closer look?"  
  
"Good idea, maybe we can figure out what this is about." Opening the car door, the two   
imposters walked closer, trying to blend in with the crowd. Looking again at the house, Lee   
noticed two small children playing on the lawn. They had some kind of toy with them; it was   
bright yellow and had a pull string.  
  
"I'm Buster Duck. Let's look and learn," the toy's voice box crackled out as one child pulled its   
string. "What a guy! Keep up the good work," the annoying voice intoned.  
  
"Dumb duck, thinks I'm a guy," one child, curls cascading down her back, said disgustedly.  
  
"Let me have it! It's my turn, anyway," said the smaller of the two, her hair in pigtails. As she   
pulled the string, the toy uttered, "Atta boy! Keep up the good work."  
  
"Dumb thing thinks I'm a boy, too," the younger girl agreed.   
  
"Let me try it again," the older one offered, taking it back from the younger girl. Giving a good   
strong yank to the string, she succeeded in pulling the string right out of the duck's back.  
  
"Oh, you broke it! I'm gonna tell!" the younger one offered helpfully.  
  
"No, don't! Let me try to fix it." Grasping the duck in one hand, she pounded her fist into the toy,   
and then pounded the duck into the ground, demanding, "Talk! Talk!"  
  
Finally, the duck warbled, "What a guy! You've got real potential!"  
  
"Dumb duck, still thinks I'm a guy," she said disgustedly. "This is a stupid toy, let's get rid of it."  
  
"Okay," the younger one agreed.   
  
Turning away from the scene playing out on the lawn before her, Amanda looked at her husband   
and realized he appeared to be frozen in place. Grabbing his shoulder, she shook him, asking,   
"Lee? Lee, are you okay?"  
  
"Wha. . .huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he replied as he shook his head, the glazed look leaving his   
eyes. "I just remembered something. Why do you suppose I'd remember my dry cleaning now,   
of all times?" he asked, perplexed.  
  
"I don't know, Lee. I don't even understand why we're here. Maybe we'll never know," she   
concluded with a shake of her head.  
  
As they turned to walk back to their car, the excitement apparently over, she paused as she   
heard the front door open on the house that was the object of so much attention. Looking over   
her shoulder, she saw a young brunette poke her head out of the door, calling, "Phyllis, Janie,   
time to come in, now!"  
  
"Aw, Mom! Do we have to?" the older girl asked.  
  
"Yes, you have to. It's time to wash up for dinner," the no-nonsense voice continued.  
  
"Alright! We'll be right there." As the woman disappeared back into the house, the younger girl   
turned to her sister and asked, "What're we gonna do with Buster, here? He's broken, but good."  
  
"Let's just throw him back where we found him," the older one replied, "back into the gutter." As   
she finished speaking, the girl picked up the battered Buster and tossed him out into the street.   
"I don't think it's littering if we just put him back where we found him," she explained.  
  
Satisfied, the two skipped up the walk and entered their house, closing the door firmly behind   
them.  
  
As the group piled back into their vehicles, Lee and Amanda waited in their Taurus, watching the   
parade of plaid. Finally, everyone was aboard, and the caravan took off. The white Chevy   
Astro, still in the lead, pulled away from the curb and summarily ran over Buster Duck. "Follow. .   
. instructions. Success comes one. . . step. . . at. . . a. . ." the voice whined on before coming to   
a halt. Each vehicle, in turn, ran over the poor, discarded toy, until it was unrecognizable.  
  
Amanda shook her head at the waste as Lee swerved to avoid the duck. Looking at Amanda, a   
strange look in his eye, he said, "For some strange reason, I have this sudden urge to stop at the   
store for coffee and a dozen eggs."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Do we really have to get dressed up like this?" Lee asked as he struggled with his costume.   
The straw was making him itch, and the floppy hat didn't quite fit, sliding down over his eyes.   
  
"Lee, if we're going to observe our suspects unobserved, then this is the perfect opportunity. Aw,   
c'mon, Lee, get in the spirit. It is October, after all. What could be more fun than a costume   
party?" Amanda adjusted her navy plaid jumper as she observed herself in the bathroom   
mirror. "Oh, I know what this costume needs," she exclaimed.   
  
"What's that?" he asked, resigning himself to his fate as he sat down on the bed as comfortably   
as possible in his scratchy costume.   
  
"I need pigtails. My, it's been ages since I braided my hair." Finishing up, she sauntered over to   
her husband. "What do you think?" she asked, striking a pose.   
  
"You make a wonderful Dorothy. All the way down to your ruby slippers," Lee replied as he stood   
up off the bed. "And I proved that the Scarecrow really hasn't got a brain, letting you talk me   
into wearing this silly getup."   
  
"You make a very fine scarecrow, Scarecrow. Now, let's get ourselves to the party and find out   
what those men are up to." Scooping up her red-plaid lined basket, she took her husband's arm   
and steered him towards the door.   
  
"Auntie Em had better appreciate this," he muttered under his breath as he reached back to   
scratch his itchy backside. "Well, Dorothy, follow that yellow brick road, who knows what we'll   
find at the end of it."  
  
"Sure thing, Scarecrow, as long as it's not yellow plaid," she retorted, raising her eyebrows at   
him.  
  
Entering the ballroom the pigtail wearing, backside-scratching pair stopped a moment to study   
their surroundings. There was an enormous picture of Bruce Box-something-or-other on the far   
wall, surrounded by a huge red heart. In front of the picture was a small stage with a podium;   
apparently some sort of speech was planned for the evening.  
  
The other walls were adorned with hundreds of various shapes and sizes of scarecrows, all   
wearing plaid overalls. Between the scarecrows were assortments of corn stalks, pumpkins and   
gourds, as well as a few spider webs replete with grinning spiders. Turning their eyes upward,   
the two noticed thousands of jack-o-lanterns, all of which were wearing red hats.   
  
In the middle of the floor was a 1985 silver Corvette. Big signs adorned it stating, "Win the   
Corvette of your dreams! Sit in the seat previously warmed by our own beloved buffhunk's buns!   
Raffle tickets only $100!"  
  
"Oh, my gosh, Lee. Do you think these crazy women actually shell out $100 for raffle tickets?   
Lee?" She shook her husband's arm. He was staring at the corvette, his eyes popping and drool   
forming at the corner of his mouth. "Lee! Snap out of it!"  
  
"Huh, what? Oh, sorry, Amanda. Felt like I was in a time warp for a minute there. Do you   
believe it? That's the spitting image of my old 'Vette. I don't suppose. . ." he stopped, giving her   
a sheepish look.  
  
"No, Lee. We are not going to buy a raffle ticket for a car you don't need. C'mon, we have work   
to do," she finished, rolling her eyes at her husband's love of fast cars. "Let's find Emily's niece   
and see if our suspects have made an appearance yet."  
  
As the room slowly filled with women, Amanda found herself momentarily puzzled. There was   
an assortment of the usual Halloween costumes, but the majority of the women seemed to not   
be in costume at all. Most of them were wearing full, knee-length skirts and pastel blouses   
complete with shoulder pads. Each skirt was adorned with a belt, and some of them wore softly   
colored cardigans. Most of them had two or three-inch heels, also in pastel colors. As she got   
closer to a couple of the women, she noticed that the sweaters they wore had holes in the side.   
They looked like bullet holes! She was never going to figure this group of wild women out.  
  
Spotting the two guards they'd spoken to earlier, Lee realized that the woman with them must be   
Emily's niece. She was the one he vaguely remembered from the pub. "Amanda, that is her,"   
Lee whispered, "I don't think I'd better use the peacock dance with her. She's a real spitfire - I'd   
end up in the hospital if I started something with her I couldn't finish."  
  
"Okay, okay," Amanda reassured. "We'll think of something else. Do you see the Metzgers   
anywhere?"  
  
"Well, based upon the description you got from the night clerk, that must be them over there,"   
Lee replied, indicating, with a nod of his head, an uncomfortable looking duo in the far corner.   
"Those are the men from the film showing. What are they wearing?"  
  
"Well, Scarecrow, I'd say they must've ordered from the same costume shop we did. I do   
believe that's the Cowardly Lion and the Tinman. The 'Tinman', judging by the cane, must be   
Colonel Metzger, and the 'Lion' his nephew, Rolf."   
  
Suddenly, music, different from the background music that had been playing, started up. A lone   
figure walked to the podium, causing a commotion amongst the crowd of women. As she   
approached, the crowd broke out into song, clapping and singing, "SMK, we salute you. Here's to   
a beautiful show. Everyone can be a SMacKer. You can ask any SMK girl. Show me the way to   
others learning to love our show. SMK can become your obsession. Just ask any SMK girl!"  
  
Lee and Amanda watched in fascination as the figure at the podium, an almost glow about her   
head, and a nametag reading, "St. Emma," mesmerized the crowd for more than 15 minutes.   
Finally, she seemed to be winding down, saying, "And finally, a frowning face to that SMacKer   
who was heard saying that our competition, Fans of Vincent Perez, is 'icky'." As she said this,   
she held up a large yellow frowning face.  
  
The crowd gasped in shock, and she continued, "My friends, Fans of Vincent Perez are not icky.   
They are misguided and deserve our pity. And soon, we will trample them into the dust. Because   
what's our motto?" she asked the crowd, building them into a cheering frenzy.  
  
The crowd yelled out, "SMK, SMK, SMK!"  
  
St. Emma continued, "Precisely," as the crowd of SMacKers applauded. SMacKers, the magic   
moment is at hand. Today we will announce the names of those chosen to enter the inner   
sanctum of SMacKerdom, the plaid circle." St. Emma gestured to the back of the room as she   
said this, while two women, "Boxboots" and "Imnotacommittee", opened the drape to reveal a   
large plaid circle. There were "ooh's" and "aah's" from the crowd.  
  
Amanda, looking over at her husband, raised one eyebrow at the shenanigans of this crowd.   
Hearing the woman begin again, she turned back to watch the circus.   
  
The woman held up a plaid envelope, gesticulating to the crowd and then waving for quiet as she   
opened it. "Now our new Plaid Circle SMacKers will stay behind for a private meeting with our   
favorite SMK actor," she paused at the "aah's" and "ooh's", then continued, "Rise, SMacKers,   
and welcome our fellow SMacKers into a new light! Our first Plaid Circle candidate is. . .   
Mishmosh!"  
  
As the crowd claped, Mishmosh gasped, and walked to the front of the room. The crowd sang,   
"She's a Plaid Circle SMacKer, yes she is, yes she is, she's a Plaid Circle SMacKer, yes she is!"   
as the initiate walked through the giant plaid circle.  
  
St. Emma read another name, "Musicandles!" and then, "Bethyboo!" and "JamonSF!" while the   
crowd again sang their rendition of "Plaid Circle SMacKer" and the initiates walked proudly   
forward.  
  
After the final initiates made their walk through the plaid circle, the crowd quieted down in   
seeming anticipation. St. Emma, still commanding the podium, said, "Next on our agenda is the   
raffle. I hope all of you purchased your raffle tickets, because one of you is going to win that   
1985 Corvette! The lucky winner is. . ." she began as she reached her hand inside the large red   
hat that held the raffle tickets, pulling out an entry and reading, "Ghostwriter! GW, are you   
here?" Everyone looked around the room in anticipation, but no one came forward. "GW   
appears to be out of the room, at the moment. I'm sure she'll return quickly when she realizes   
she's won the 'Vette! Well, that's all I have for you SMacKers, so enjoy the rest of the party!"   
she concluded as she stepped down.  
  
Turning to look at Amanda, Lee said, "Well, that was a rather odd ceremony. I wonder what   
SMacKer stands for? Oh, well, we'll probably never figure out this crowd. Let's go get some   
punch and enjoy ourselves."  
  
"Sounds like a plan. Emily's niece is so surrounded by those odd guards of hers that I think we   
can relax a bit," she said as they walked over to the hors'd'ouvre table. Filling two plates, and   
grabbing some punch, the two spies settled down onto a pair of chairs that allowed them   
surveillance of the entire room.  
  
"Amanda? Is it me, or are these smuck. . . smock. . .um. . ."  
  
"SMacKers, Lee," she corrected around a mouthful of poppy seed cake.  
  
"Yeah, right, SMacKers. Are they drinking Galliano in milk?" he asked as he sipped his punch.  
  
"Uh, huh. I do believe that's what they're drinking. Why? Mother drinks it all the time," she said   
as she scooped up some peanut butter with her marshmallow.  
  
"It's new to me," he said, shaking his head at the vagaries of women. "The Metzgers appear to   
be having a good time," he chuckled, indicating the pair with a nod of his head.  
  
"Yeah, the younger one, Rolf, isn't it, appears to be three sheets to the wind already," she said   
wryly.  
  
"Uh, huh, and I can't tell if the colonel is just as drunk, or if he's just always that unsteady. I'm   
afraid Rolf isn't doing him much good, at the moment," Lee laughed as the old man held tightly   
to his nephew, while his nephew wobbled about the room.  
  
"I think we'll have light duty tonight, Lee. Judging by their condition, they'll be passed out long   
before they can cause anymore trouble."  
  
"Oh? What do you suppose we should do with our free time, Mrs. Stetson?" he inquired,   
wiggling his eyebrows at her.  
  
"Are you propositioning me, Mr. Stetson? And while on duty, too? What would your boss think?"   
she asked, smiling coyly at him.  
  
"Well, since I am the boss, I guess I know what he thinks, and it's something I'd better save for   
our hotel room, Mrs. Stetson," he finished, giving her a wink.  
  
"Well, it looks as if the daring duo is headed upstairs. Why don't we follow them to make sure   
their room is indeed where they're going? Then, we can head to our room, as well."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," he replied, raising her hand to his lips. "Right this way, Dorothy."  
  
"Why, thank you, Scarecrow," she said as she took his proffered arm and they exited the   
ballroom, following the Metzger pair closely, but not too closely.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"That was quite a party," Amanda remarked as she helped Lee out of his costume.   
  
"Yeah, that group of SMacKers sure can hold their Galliano. I've never seen so much consumed   
at one party. Ah, that feels much better," he exclaimed as he shed the last of the scratchy straw.   
  
"Oh, you poor dear. Look at those welts. You know what might help?" she asked, looking   
tenderly at her red-spotted husband.   
  
"You mean besides a new skin?" he asked, looking himself over.   
  
"Why don't we go for a swim? The front desk said the pool's open late. And I still haven't seen   
you in that swimsuit," she remarked, grinning.   
  
"I'm game." He rustled through his suitcase until he found what he was looking for - his new blue   
swim trunks. Quickly putting them on, he looked expectantly at his wife. "Well, what're you   
waiting for? Let's go."   
  
"Well, since you're so eager, grab some towels out of the bathroom while I change." Shaking her   
head, Amanda pulled her one-piece out of her bag and soon she, too, was ready. "Not bad for a   
grandpa," she commented as she walked over to Lee and put her arm around his waist.   
  
"You're not bad yourself, for a grandma," he teased, draping his arm across her shoulder. Arm-  
in-arm they headed down to the pool area.   
  
Arriving poolside, the two agents stopped suddenly. "What is that in the pool?" Amanda asked.   
  
The two slowly approached the large, rectangular pool. Instead of the usual cerulean blue, this   
pool's water was a sickening shade of pink! Peering into the depths, they soon realized why.   
The pool's bottom was painted in red plaid!  
  
"Lee, I don't usually give much credence to the paranormal, but do you suppose this place is   
possessed?" she asked as she slowly shook her head.  
  
"Hi, guys! My name is Domi, Chatty Domi! How are you this evening?" a voice came to them   
from the far side of the pool. Drifting over to them on a large red inflatable. . .  
  
"Lee, what is that?" Amanda whispered.  
  
"I think it's a hat," he whispered back.  
  
"Are you all here for the midnight pool party? There should be more people here soon. My   
friend Petra and I came down early to get things started. That's Petra over there on the lounge   
chair. Wave 'Hi' Petra. I'm kind of the organizer for this little swim. I'm from north Germany.   
Do you all know Germany? I'm giving German lessons to some of my buddies here, they're   
great friends. I met them on the Internet. Do you all use the Internet? Isn't it great?" the woman   
asked as she floated closer.   
  
Amanda realized the chatty woman was wearing a red plaid swimsuit and….. Was that a   
headband? Oh, my gosh! She hadn't seen headbands like that in 15 years. And what on Earth   
was trailing after the woman? At least a dozen bags of something floated behind the inflatable   
red hat. Marshmallows?  
  
As the woman continued talking, Amanda leaned closer to Lee and whispered, "Lee, I think I   
changed my mind. Let's leave before this gets any weirder."  
  
"I agree. A plaid pool full of marshmallows is a bit much." Turning, the two waved politely to the   
talkative woman in plaid.   
  
"I'm sorry," Amanda said, "We just remembered we have an appointment very early in the   
morning. I'm afraid we won't be staying for your midnight swim."   
  
"Oh, well, if you're sure," Domi stated. "Are you sure you don't want some bean dip before you   
go? There's some on the table over there. Oh, and some really yummy poppy seed cake. Or   
how about marshmallows and peanut butter? We have plenty."  
  
"No, thank you. We really must be going," Amanda replied as she tugged on Lee's hand. His   
face had lit up at the mention of bean dip, and she was afraid to let him think about it too long.  
  
"Oh, yeah, right. Good night," he said, turning to follow his wife.  
  
"Hey," the woman called after them, "Do I know you? You look kind of familiar."  
  
Quickly reaching the elevator, the two heaved a sigh of relief at their narrow escape.  
  
"That was close," Lee said, putting his arm around Amanda. "Can you believe that woman?   
Damn, Amanda, even you couldn't keep up with her. Now what am I going to do about my   
skin?"  
  
"We do have a Jacuzzi we haven't tried yet. And this one hasn't had any dead bodies in it," she   
said, leaning into her husband's strong frame.  
  
"Well, not that we know of, anyway," he supplied, giving her a tight squeeze.  
  
"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the chest. "Let's just hope the water in the   
Jacuzzi doesn't come out plaid."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
(Sunday, October 15th)  
  
Lee awoke Sunday morning to a very cold, very empty bed. He reached for the bed linens to   
cover himself against the equally frigid room. Somehow, the blankets always gravitated to   
Amanda's side of the bed. He spotted his prodigal wife hunched over the desk. Her left hand   
held an earpiece speaker tightly in place; her right was scribbling furiously on the sheets of hotel   
paper in front of her.  
  
"Amanda?" He drew out her name, something between a query and a groan. "Does the word   
'workaholic' mean anything to you?"  
  
"Shh!" she ordered.  
  
"Would you at least turn the A/C down? It's freezing in here!" Lee tucked the blankets more   
securely around his shoulders and shuddered, only partially for effect.  
  
"Colonel Metzger's up, Lee," Amanda informed him. "He's yelling at his nephew. They're   
planning a more direct attempt on Emily's niece today, unless a better opportunity presents itself   
first. The Colonel's still pretty upset about the cookie thing. He wants this settled early; he isn't   
much for keeping late hours any more, evidently." She lay down her pen and removed the   
earpiece.  
  
"Rolf's gone back to bed and the Colonel's just fuming - I can hear his breathing."  
  
"Good!" Lee responded. "Then you come back to bed, too. It's . . ." He turned to better view the   
bedside clock. ". . . 4:37. Get back in here and warm me up."  
  
"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," she replied, suddenly contrite. "It was just so hot in here when I woke   
up. I just had to get some cool air moving."  
  
"Are you OK now?" Lee asked.  
  
"Yeah, it's passed now. And if you're really that cold . . ." She lifted the blankets to climb in   
beside him only to have him snatch them back.  
  
"Amanda Stetson. Turn. It. Off. If you don't, there'll be no hope of turning anything else on."  
  
"Crybaby," Amanda muttered as she moved to restore the climate to suit her husband.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Aw, Hell!" Scarecrow muttered as slumped against the wall. "We lost him again."  
  
The pair had been following the Metzgers, junior and senior, for the better part of the morning.   
They had spotted the men eyeing the British beauty and her boneheaded bodyguards at   
breakfast. For three hours they had followed one or both Germans on seemingly wasted hikes   
around the hotel environs.  
  
"Lee, admit it." Amanda caressed his cheek, hoping to remove some of the sting from her words.   
"They're on to us. I don't know how. We've been absolutely discreet all weekend. I mean, this   
case has been textbook, completely textbook."  
  
Stetson regaled his wife with a wry look.  
  
She returned it with a soft smile and continued, "We need to try a different approach, Scarecrow.   
Let's head up to The One's floor and wait. Metzger has got to make his move soon. I heard all   
the SMacKers saying last night that they are all leaving either today or tomorrow."  
  
"It's worth a try," Lee sighed in exhaustion. "Did I mention that I'm getting too old for this stuff?"  
  
"Only about fifty times this morning, Scarecrow." Amanda laughed gently at her partner's   
distress.  
  
"Really? Well, that's good," he nodded as he pursed his lips in thought. "I just wanted to make   
sure you know. I'm really looking forward to my nice flat, boring desk and my nice comfortable   
chair in my office that's safe several levels underground."  
  
Arriving at the bank of elevators, they pushed the 'up' button, and waited impatiently for the   
doors to open. When the elevator doors opened, inside they saw one lone woman in plaid.   
Giving each other nervous looks, the pair hesitated, neither one wanting to run those stairs   
again.  
  
The woman, wearing a nametag that said, "Germanbbfan", smiled a warm smile at the couple in   
front of her. In a very non-threatening, unobtrusive manner, she walked forward and put her   
arms gently around Lee. Giving him a squeeze, she said, in a soft German accent, "It's so good   
to see you again. I'm glad you could make it." Then, releasing her hold on him, she moved   
away from the stunned duo and entered the lobby.  
  
"Amanda?" Lee asked, unable to formulate a more coherent question.  
  
"I don't know, Lee. But, she seemed like a very nice woman. Let's just get on the elevator   
before anything else happens."  
  
"Good idea," he said as they entered the elevator and the doors closed protectively around them.  
Within moments, they arrived at the ninth floor. Glancing towards room 912, they were surprised   
to see nothing amiss. Amanda looked the other way down the hall and smirked at Lee as she   
immediately spotted Oscar Metzger crouched in front of room 921 with a lock reader. Before   
either spy could react further, Metzger was through the door  
  
Amanda gave chase before the door could close behind the ripened rapscallion.  
  
"Wait, that's the wrong . . . " Lee shouted as he followed.  
  
"I know, but I'm hoping he doesn't," Amanda called back.  
  
Amanda caught the door just before the latch engaged and pushed it cautiously open. Room   
921 was definitely the source of the wild party that had kept them awake the night before. The   
room was filled with the remains of dozens of party platters. Plastic cups littered the floor. Plaid   
streamers drooped from the ceiling and every flat surface. At least fifteen red hats were   
scattered about the room. Neither bed had been slept in, but both were rumpled as badly as if   
her grandchildren had been jumping on them all night. On one bed several empty marshmallow   
bags surrounded a half empty bag. An old science fiction movie was playing on the television.   
Amanda remembered taking the boys to see it years ago. It was something about a computer   
programmer being sucked inside the computer.  
  
On the desk to the right were hundreds of videotapes. They were grouped together in bundles of   
eleven tapes. Each bundle bore a name reminiscent of the SMacKers they had seen this   
weekend. Next to the tower of videotapes stood Oscar Metzger, holding a gun on the sole   
visible occupant of the room. She was holding a half-eaten bag of marshmallows and seemed   
oblivious to the danger she was currently in.   
  
"Hi! My name is Emma. Welcome to my . . . "  
  
She never finished as Lee entered the room at a dead run, took in the situation at a glance, and   
swept both arms across the desk. The tower of tapes landed on Metzger with a tumult. The   
elderly man collapsed under the weight of all the videotapes.  
  
Lee checked for a pulse and hung his head. "Damn! He's dead, Amanda."  
  
"Lee! Look!" Amanda pointed to the wide-open balcony door. Rolf Metzger was easing his more   
youthful form over the edge of the railing. Backing away, Amanda stepped onto a fallen tape,   
losing her balance with a snap. Looking down, she said, "Oh, my gosh! Not another heel?"  
  
The villain entered through the sliding glass door from the balcony. Amanda, snatching two   
marshmallows from the bag the momentarily stunned Emma was holding, hurled them at him.   
The man opened his mouth in shock at the projectiles coming his way. One of the sugary shot-  
puts lodged firmly in his throat. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.  
  
Suddenly two figures appeared from the shadows in a corner of the room. One, a woman of   
medium height and dressed in a long black and white faux fur coat, went immediately to the   
downed man and performed the Heimlich Maneuver. As the marshmallow left his throat   
explosively, she quickly handcuffed him behind his back. The other figure, somewhat shorter   
and wearing a long trench coat and a red fedora, approached the weary spies.  
  
"Aloha, we're your backup, Agents Dix and Panda, at your service," she smiled as she held out   
her hand.  
  
"Backup? What the hell kind of backup are you? Have you been here all along?" Lee asked,   
incredulous. "Who sent you? What have you been doing this whole time?"  
  
"In case you missed it, Scarecrow dear, we are the ones who managed to get cuffs on our friend   
here. And we didn't even have to interrupt our chat to do it," Agent Dix responded.  
  
"Besides," Panda picked up, "where else would we be? Everyone knows that Emma's room is   
the best place to chat." She smiled at Stetson as she pulled her captive toward the door.  
  
Lee's face paled as both Panda and Dix turned slightly. Had he really seen it? Surely he was   
imagining it. No, oh, dear Lord, no. As each woman turned, her coat flared out slightly and Lee   
glimpsed the unmistakable, painfully familiar sight of plaid.  
  
"A. . . A. . . Amanda," he stuttered, reaching for his wife's hand. "We need to be going now.   
Great to meet all of you. . . .ummm. . . .really great." He slowly inched toward the door, pushing   
Amanda behind him, as Panda and Dix advanced on them.  
  
Panda and Dix were women transformed. Each bore a grin of surpassing silliness and their eyes   
were glazed over. They loosened their coats, revealing more of the petrifying plaid. A small bit   
of drool began to form at the corners of their mouths.  
  
"Lee," Amanda queried her husband, "did you notice that Dix is wearing a RED hat? A RED hat,   
Lee."  
  
"I noticed. Believe me, I noticed." They continued their slow retreat to the door. The women   
advanced with equal determination.  
  
"Oh, Lee," Amanda sighed, "we are definitely not in Kansas anymore."  
  
At that, Emma, who had remained silent ever since the videotape tower tumble, let out a loud   
piercing cry of, "OLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!"  
  
All three women charged the spies. Emma cut off their escape out the door. Lee tightened his   
grip and clambered over the first bed, pulling his wife behind him. He stumbled as he reached   
the second bed and sprawled across it. Amanda pulled him quickly to his feet, snatching the bag   
of marshmallows with her other hand. She began hurling them at their pursuers. Reaching the   
balcony, Lee pulled Amanda outside and closed the sliding door behind them. He wedged a   
small lounge chair against the handle in a probably vain effort to keep it closed.  
  
Metzger's means of entry was immediately obvious. A grappling hook was lodged firmly in one   
corner of the balustrade. From the hook trailed a length of nylon rope. Lee fingered the rope   
and glanced meaningfully at his wife.  
  
"Well, we don't have much choice do we?" she asked him breathlessly.  
  
"Our room is the next one down," Lee offered in encouragement. "We'll be fine."  
  
With that, he swung himself over the edge. Amanda followed with only slightly less grace. To   
her dismay, her broken shoe caught on the rope and she lost her grip.   
  
Lee caught her desperately as she fell against him, one hand still grasping their lifeline.  
  
"Easy," he breathed, "I've got you."  
  
"Yeah, but look who's got you!" Lee looked about as they dangled. Directly below them in the   
pool area, a commotion had begun. A large number of women were pointing and gasping. Lee   
could still make out the unmistakable splash of plaid from eight-and-a-half floors up.   
  
The real threat was from above. The three women had gained the balcony and were presently   
arguing about something. In the end, Agent Panda won the day. She refused to have traveled   
this far and come this close to the sight of a wet Lee Stetson without being satisfied. So, into the   
drink they would go. She reached down and, using all of her strength, freed the grappling hook   
from its place. Lee and Amanda plummeted to the previously pristine plaid pool below.  
  
The group of SMacKers, all in plaid swimsuits and red sun hats, sat, stunned, in their lounge   
chairs. An unnatural stillness came over them. Only the sight now before them could have   
caused such silence.   
  
Lee, wet through, stood up from helping Amanda out of the pool. His graying hair slicked back   
as he ran his long fingers through it. His piercing hazel eyes squinted into the sunlight as he   
looked about, attempting to regain his bearings. Disgusted, he peeled off his soggy shirt,   
revealing to the gaping crowd his smooth, hairless chest.   
  
The years had been kind to Lee. His stomach showed only minor signs of extra padding, while   
his muscular arms and chest maintained their tone. The lines about his eyes and mouth only   
served to demonstrate his good humor and enjoyment of life. The maturity he now displayed   
gave his admirers a glimpse of the man he'd become.   
  
As the onlookers gawked, he took Amanda's hand and, glancing nervously at the assorted plaid-  
clad women, turned to leave the pool area. "Amanda, I think we need to leave, now. Did you   
notice the pool level is rising?"   
  
"Yeah, I did. Did you see how those women were looking at you? The drool was running out of   
their mouths. Remind me not to swim in that pool."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Stopping only briefly in their own room for dry clothing and new shoes, the still slightly soaked   
Stetsons returned to room 921. As they exited the elevator, they were greeted with the most   
welcome sight either had viewed all weekend-Francine Desmond and her partner of many   
years, Efram Beeman. The two were directing the removal of Oscar Metzger's body and the   
incarceration of his laughable nephew.  
  
"Well, well, lounging around the pool when there's work to be done?" Francine quipped.  
  
"Can it, Francine," Lee retorted. "Are those three women still in there?"  
  
"Them?" Francine snorted. "Oh, yeah, they've been real helpful. For some reason they kept   
calling me Martha, though. Do I look like a Martha to you?"  
  
"We'll call you anything you like if you'll handle the cleanup here, Francine," Amanda leaned   
against her husband, grateful the hordes of SMacKers were at bay.  
  
"All right, then, call me She Who Must Be Obeyed and then get the hell out of here." Francine   
smiled as Efram paused before entering the room to finish a last round of questioning. "You two   
look awful. What on earth are you wearing on your feet, Amanda?"  
  
"These?" Amanda glanced down at the ruby red slippers gaudily gracing her feet. "Believe it or   
not, Francine, they're all I have left."  
  
"Come on, Mrs. Stetson," Lee tugged her back toward the elevator. "They've got things well in   
hand here. We're going back home to Arlington. Francine, I'll expect a report waiting for me by   
morning." He nodded to his agents and turned away.  
  
Francine watched the couple until they were safely aboard the elevator. Only Lee and Amanda   
could turn a simple weekend assignment into a farce of this magnitude, she mused. Francine   
chuckled as Amanda's garish shoes clicked three times over the metal threshold of the elevator.   
As the doors began to close, she saw Amanda turn into Lee's arms and shake her head saying,   
"Oh, Lee, there's no place like home, there's no place like home." He pulled her more tightly   
against his body and silenced her with a kiss.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Amanda?" a voice entreated gently.  
  
"Lee?" Amanda replied groggily.  
  
"Amanda, wake up, dear," Dotty West nudged her daughter's shoulder gently, then turned to   
bestow the same treatment on her son-in-law.  
  
"Wha . . .What happened?" Amanda shook her head to clear the whirlwind that seemed to have   
taken up residence in her mind. She seemed to have had the oddest dream. Plaid pools and   
drooling women? Poisoned chocolate chip cookies and red hats? Metzgers and SMacKers?   
The dream was a twisted, convoluted terror interspersed with moments of outright hilarity. Or   
was it an outrageous Keystone adventure interjected with flashes of sheer terror?  
  
She looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. She was leaning against Lee on the couch   
in the den. The den in Arlington, so they were at home, she thought, not in California. This was   
home, where plaid meant nothing more threatening than a Christmas present from Lee. Home,   
where marshmallows stayed safely stashed in the cupboard beside the stove, safe from juvenile   
hands, not strung out across the swimming pool.   
  
Dotty stood behind the couch, her hand resting once again on Amanda's shoulder. Amanda   
nudged Lee gently in the ribs. He awakened slowly, raising his hand to rub at a large red welt on   
his forehead.  
  
"Amanda, dear, whatever am I supposed to do with the two of you? You had barely been in the   
door, set down your bags, and then you both bent over to pick up that envelope over there. You   
crashed right into each other and knocked each other out cold. I decided to just let you rest here   
on the couch, I never would have gotten Lee upstairs anyway." Dotty wound down her tale as   
Amanda slumped over, sinking her head into her hands.  
  
"Ow!" she groaned as she hit a tender spot near her temple. She glanced to her right, taking in   
her husband's similar self-ministrations out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"Lee?" she whispered. "It all seemed so real. You were there. California and the Metzgers and   
the SMacKers? Was it real?"  
  
"You were there, too?" Lee asked in a hushed tone. "I was hoping . . . Man, what a dream!"  
  
"So here the two of you sat, dreaming away, while I finished the housework by myself," Dotty   
resumed, oblivious to the couple's confusion. "I have washed; I have dusted; I have vacuumed;   
I have fluffed; I have folded; I have cooked. All while you two dreamed the day away. And, on   
top of all of that, I even carried your suitcases upstairs. I'm getting old, children, but I don't mind.   
It is difficult for me, but you know I'm happy to help. Are you hungry? Here."   
  
As she finished she leaned down between them over the back of the couch, holding a plate full   
of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies. The sleeve of the old purple and green plaid shirt she   
only wore for housecleaning brushed against Lee's cheek.  
  
Lee and Amanda exchanged a look of remembrance and abject terror. Both bolted to their feet,   
upsetting the plate of cookies and sending Dotty sprawling backwards toward the kitchen. In the   
process of standing, Amanda stumbled and fell against her husband. He caught her and helped   
her to right herself. Still clutching tightly to one another, they looked deeply into each other's   
eyes, voicing the only thought of which either was capable.  
  
"OH MY GOSH!" they exhaled in unison.  
  
  
THE END  
  
AUTHORS' END NOTE: We feel it behooves us to mention a similarity we discovered between   
this story, and one previously written. The story is by Bridget Frawley and is posted at Robin's   
site. The url for Bridget's story is: http://www.angelfire.com/tv/smkfanfic/whatif1.htm We have   
let Bridget know of the similarities and, although neither of us had read her story prior to writing   
ours (Yes, I hear Twilight Zone music, maybe our brain waves intercepted hers somewhere out   
there in the ether-net!), we wanted to make sure she had no problems with our posting this story. 


End file.
